


All I Want for Christmas is You

by grasslandgirl



Category: American Vandal (TV)
Genre: M/M, christmas rom com au, i love stupid christmas rom coms and so i wrote this!, merry fucking christmas yall, ooc? probably! do i care? no!, santa beta'd this for me, terribly self indulgent and riduclous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 19:44:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17147960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grasslandgirl/pseuds/grasslandgirl
Summary: the Christmas/holiday rom com au literally no one asked for and I wrote anyways! happy holiGays eldonado warriors!---There was a cute guy on Peter’s bus.Specifically, there was a very cute guy, sitting next to Peter on his bus ride home from college, and he had fallen asleep on Peter’s shoulder. But Peter had the window seat. So, at least there was that.





	All I Want for Christmas is You

**Author's Note:**

> in case any of you are wondering, this is Not the secret wip ive been working on for the last little while (though i have been working on this since thanksgiving ghjkhkj), you're still going to have to wait another little bit for that to be posted, i still have a lot to write ahaha  
> but! i hope you enjoy this nonsense cheesy stupid fic i wrote in the meantime; im a sucker for predictable christmas rom coms so honestly it's inevitable for me to write this lmao

There was a cute guy on Peter’s bus.

Specifically, there was a  _ very  _ cute guy, sitting  _ next to Peter _ on his bus ride home from college, and he had  _ fallen asleep on Peter’s shoulder _ . But Peter had the window seat. So, at least there was that. 

The guy- Peter really had to think of something better than  _ the cute guy currently asleep on my shoulder _ to refer to him as- had sandy brown hair, gelled to a high quiff, but it had crumpled a little over the course of the ride due to being squished into the side of Peter’s head. Not that he was complaining, because it smelled surprisingly good. He was wearing a flannel or a button down, covered up for the most part by what Peter guessed was his fashionably oversized jacket. There was a cap shoved haphazardly in his backpack, sitting half on the guy’s lap and half falling on the floor of the bus, which seemed counterintuitive to Peter, given the gelled and coiffed state of his hair; but then again, Peter wasn’t really in a place to judge anyone else’s fashion and hair choices. His wardrobe was primarily jeans, hoodies, and flannels. 

He was a gay college freshman, though, so that was at least a marginal excuse. 

When Peter thought about it- he had long since stopped trying to ignore the cute guy who may or may not be drooling a little on his sweatshirt- his best guess was that the guy was also a student at UCLA. And frankly, it wasn’t that surprising that Peter didn’t recognize him, given that he spent most of his time out of class in the library, his dorm, and the editing lab on campus. 

Then again, if there were guys as cute as this one roaming campus, Peter might have to reevaluate his stance on outside socialization. 

The guy murmured something in his sleep and shifted a little, burying his nose and cheek in Peter’s shoulder like he had been doing in for years. Peter bit down- unsuccessfully-  on a stupid lovesick smile, and forced his gaze back out the window. This was getting ridiculous. It was only a few hours’ bus ride from LA to Oceanside, and he was already pining after a guy he knew next to nothing about. Other than that he looked unfairly cute while asleep.

Peter shifted a little to angle his phone screen so he could see it without rousing his seatmate. 2:34 PM- a little over an hour and a half into the trip, which meant there was only a hour or so until Peter was home, with a few stops in other towns before the bus drove through Oceanside. 

_ Shit _ . Peter fought against the urge to straighten in his sudden realization.  _ What if the guy’s stop was before Oceanside? What if we’ve already passed his stop? What if- _

“Shit.” This time, Peter spoke aloud. He had only whispered, but apparently the guy napping on his shoulder was a deceptively light sleeper, because he shifted and Peter saw him dazedly blink awake out of the corner of his eye. 

The guy’s hand raised, habitual, to rub the sleep out of his eye, and he gave a small stretch, rolling out his neck and shoulder. Suddenly, the guy sat up ramrod straight in the tacky bus seat, staring wide eyed at Peter. 

“Uh,” he mumbled, clearly not knowing what to say.  

Peter felt like a deer in the headlights. The guy’s gaze was unwavering and unreadable. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Peter said, feeling himself stammering, “but now that you’re awake, we’re about an hour out from Oceanside, and I don’t know what stop you need to get off at but, uh, you can go, like, talk to the bus driver. ‘Cause I don’t know exactly where we are right now, but uh...” Peter felt himself trail off. The guy was still incredulously staring at him. “Yeah.”

“You said Oceanside?” He said eventually, and Peter had to stop himself from grinning. He didn’t even know the guy. 

“Yeah, that’s my stop, so.”

“Sweet, no way, that’s my stop too!” The guy smiled, all dimples and sparkling eyes, and  _ fuck _ , Peter almost combusted on the spot. For one shining moment, he understood what everyone was talking about when they said  _ megawatt smiles _ or  _ shining like the sun _ . 

“Cool, I’m Peter.” He said, marginally keeping his cool. 

“Sam, dude, cool to meet you.” Sam reached out his hand for a fistbump, and Peter responded only a little awkwardly. Sam turned back to face the front and leaned against the back of his seat, still grinning a little. “Sorry about the whole falling-asleep-thing, by the way,” he added a little sheepishly, “my friend Gabi dragged me to a party last night and I stayed up way too late even though I knew I had to catch the bus home today.” He shot Peter a grimace that seemed more self deprecating than anything. “So like… yikes, right?” He laughed, “When in doubt, though, blame Gabi.” 

Peter couldn’t think of anything to say to that, still mostly reeling from Sam’s casual approach to falling asleep on a stranger’s shoulder and sudden leap into conversation, so he just nodded and tried not to stare as Sam scrolled through the notifications on his phone. 

Peter looked back out the window, more than willing to give awake-Sam the privacy he hadn’t gotten while sleeping, and the two sat in a silence that was surprisingly comfortable for a few minutes. Peter forced himself to think about what he would tell his mom about his fall semester when she picked him up at the bus station- and not about the annoyingly cute (and awake) guy sitting next to him. Halfway through mentally listing the next edits he needed to make on his current film project, Peter heard the tiny  _ click  _ of Sam turning his phone off.

“So, not to be, like, nosy,” Sam said suddenly, “but do you go to UCLA, too?”

Peter gladly took the excuse to turn away from the window and face Sam, saying “Uh, yeah, I’m a freshman film major with a focus in directing. What about you?”

“Oh, totally undecided at the moment,” Sam said, smiling like it was the easiest thing in the world, “but I’m a freshman, too, so I’ve got the time to figure my shit out, right?” 

“Right, no, yeah.”

“Sorry, is this weird?” Sam frowned, “I’m just like really fucking exhausted and I know if I don’t keep myself up, I’ll fall asleep again. And I don’t wanna be weird.” Peter grinned. There wasn’t any reason for it- Sam was just so straightforward and comfortable, despite not knowing Peter at all and having just woken up from an impromptu nap on his shoulder.

Peter shook his head, saying “Nah, it’s not weird.” Sam smiled at him then, and something jolted loose in Peter’s stomach.

* * *

Thanksgiving was quiet at the Maldonado’s. Peter and his mom had moved to Oceanside halfway through his senior year, so he didn’t have many friends in town to meet and visit over break, and it was only ever him and his mom for the holidays so they never made a big deal over them. They just did what they always did: make their favorite Thanksgiving staples (pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, and turkey with gravy), and pigged out while watching all their favorite movies on the couch. It was a Maldonado tradition. 

Even though Peter hadn’t spent much time at their house in Oceanside before moving into his dorms, the house was still familiar and comfortable enough with everything he and his mom had collected over the years - old pictures of the two of them, Peter’s childhood drawings framed on the walls- that it still felt like home. It was nice to get out of the dorms for a while. Peter was introverted and fairly quiet by nature, and having lived as an only child of a single parent his whole life, he wasn’t used to the loud and rambunctious nature of sharing a dorm and a hall with dozens of rowdy college students. It was nice to just be alone in his room, and not have to worry about his roommate barging in at anytime. 

Peter caught up on some work, got to talk for hours with his mom- something he missed, though he probably wouldn’t admit it- and generally enjoy a quiet weekend. And he definitely didn’t spend half his time thinking about Sam, the cute guy who had fallen asleep on his shoulder on the bus ride.

Who apparently also lived in Oceanside. Who apparently was in Peter’s year at UCLA, and thought Peter was funny and smart and-

No. He was cutting that train of thought off now. There was no point in dwelling on what was probably a one-time interaction.  _ Probably _ . 

Thanksgiving break ended too quickly, and before Peter knew it, he was hugging his mom goodbye at the bus stop. She kissed his cheek and smiled at him, the same way she had since he was little, like he was her whole world. Peter smiled back. 

Then, the bus arrived, and with it came the expectations and responsibilities of both of their lives. He gave his mom one more quick hug goodbye- he’d see her again in a few weeks when school let out for winter break at the end of the fall semester- and got on the bus.

Chronically early, Peter was one of the first people at the bus stop and therefore one of the first people on the bus itself, giving him access to all the best seats. He chose carefully, eventually picking a window seat near the dead-center of the bus. The seat was close to a heating vent- Peter was always cold- and the perfect distance from the glorified porta-potties at the back of the bus. Close enough to give him access in case of an emergency, but far enough away that he wouldn’t be bothered by people who didn’t think ahead lining up along the aisle. Peter sat in the window seat and strategically placed his bag in the seat next to him and his headphones in his ears, staring out the window to ward off any potential seatmates.

Sam sitting next to him on the ride to Oceanside had been a fluke, if anything, and Peter wanted to last the ride back to UCLA alone, if at all possible. 

His music playing in his ears, Peter let his mind wander as he stared out the window at the crowded bus stop they were parked at. He was  _ not  _ looking to see if he could find Sam in the crowd, obviously. 

And even if he had been actively looking, Peter was still surprised when, a few minutes later, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. The unexpected physical contact shook Peter out of whatever mental haze he had descended into, and he pulled out one of his earbuds, turning away from the window to see who needed his attention.

It was Sam. 

He was standing, half in the aisle, half in front of the seat beside Peter, smiling sheepishly with one hand raised in a half wave. “Hey, Peter, I didn’t want to bug you, but could I sit here?” He gestured to the seat currently holding Peter’s bag. “If not that’s cool I just-”

“No!” Peter cut him off abruptly, jumping up and grabbing his stuff off of the other seat. “I mean, yeah no problem, you can sit.” Sam nodded, and sat down quickly, moving out of the busy aisle. “Uh, how was your break?” Peter asked when Sam had settled. 

_ I hope I’m not being weird _ , Peter thought, trying to hide his nerves behind a casual grin,  _ what if he thinks I’m a stalker? Or nosy? What if he doesn’t want to talk to me or only sat here because there were no other seats? _

But Peter’s concerns turned out to all be unfounded, because Sam just grinned and launched into an extended story about his Thanksgiving with his entire- and huge- extended family, which soon had both of them nearly dying with laughter. 

The bus ride seemed shorter on the ride back. Peter and Sam spent the whole way back trading stories and ideas and opinions, and by the time the bus had dropped them back off at UCLA, they had three new inside jokes and had fought twice. 

_ This was nice _ , Peter thought as he grabbed his bags from the floorboards and the overhead carry on the bus. 

* * *

Peter and Sam had traded numbers on the bus ride back to UCLA after Thanksgiving, and while Peter had not-so-secretly hoped Sam would text him, he hadn’t really expected anything to come of it. They rode on a bus for a few hours together, and that was it. They had lasted the first semester of school never seeing each other, and with finals right around the corner, Peter hadn’t expected to hear from Sam much.

He was pleasantly surprised. 

Apparently, Sam was an avid texter, and always seemed to have something to tell or show Peter, and was more than comfortable texting him at all hours of the day to share something with him. Not that Peter minded, of course; most of those single “ _ omg Peter have you SEEN THIS _ ” texts ended up resulting into hours-long conversations about everything from the best breakfast cereals (Peter was a staunch supporter of the classic Frosted Flakes, while Sam argued that Lucky Charms was far superior- he was wrong) to deep conversations in the middle of the night about what they wanted to do with their lives. They ran into each other in the library- Peter studying, Sam raiding the  _ ‘best vending machines on campus’ _ \- and ended up meeting for coffee before and after exams.

The month between Thanksgiving break and Winter break went by quicker than Peter could have imagined. In the blink of an eye, his exams and his first semester of college was over, and he was packing to go back home to Oceanside for the holidays. 

He and Sam were both planning on taking the bus home again. Peter’s mom had offered to come up and drive him back home so he wouldn’t have to take the ride down alone again, but he had convinced her that he didn’t mind the bus. He didn’t tell her about the cute guy he had met on the ride down the month prior, and who he had struck up a fast and close friendship with almost immediately. Not that he was embarrassed of Sam or anything, but Peter knew his mom. She would read too much into the situation and assume there was something  _ more  _ going on between them.

And Peter couldn’t afford to get his hopes up. 

Maybe he had the tiniest little crush on Sam. Maybe he thought he was cute to begin with, and knew now that he was funny, and smart, and understood Peter better than anyone he had ever known only after a month. Maybe they had these moments sometimes, late at night over text or during a quiet lull in conversation at an empty coffee shop, where they would just stare at each other for a beat and Peter was sure that something was going to happen. But nothing ever did. 

The bus ride down to Oceanside went as expected. Sam sat next to Peter in what was quickly becoming their seat, Peter on the window seat, Sam on the aisle seat. They spent the trip talking and laughing and making fun of each other. They passed earbuds back and forth, comparing songs, and compared gifts they had gotten for their family members for Christmas. 

“I can’t believe you have that many cousins,” Peter said, laughing.

“Yeah, and they all cram into our house on Christmas Eve every year! Do you know what it’s like not to sleep in your own bed on Christmas because your old aunt Linda is sleeping there, Pete? It’s terrible!” Peter laughed harder, much to Sam’s chagrin. “Stop laughing!” He said, faux-complaining, “Sympathize with me!”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter choked out, still laughing between words, “that sounds terrible! Please forgive me-” he laughed harder, “-for mocking you, Sammy.”

Sam cracked a grin, which made his sharp “You’re the worst, Pete,” sound more like an endearment than the intended insult. 

They parted ways at the bus station, much like they had at Thanksgiving, but this time with the agreement to meet up at one of their houses sometime before Christmas, and then again at New Year’s.

Peter didn’t say anything to his mom about Sam, but the grin he saw on her face before she launched into a story about a woman at work told him she already knew.

* * *

It was a handful of days before Christmas, and Sam had managed to escape the chaos of his house- all of his cousins and extended family had already arrived- for the relative quiet and calm of the Maldonado home.

They quickly fell into their comfortable routine of arguing and showing each other memes on their phones, a movie playing on the TV as background noise. Peter’s mom was out, either at work or shopping for gifts, so they had the house to themselves. 

Sam ended up staying for dinner that night- Peter’s mom had made soup and Sam was more than happy to have an excuse to stay out of his overcrowded house. Night fell eventually, though, and one of Sam’s moms was texting him to be home. 

He and Peter stood out on the front porch of the Maldonados’ house, saying their goodbyes and talking about trying to meet up again sometime before break ended. 

“What are your plans for New Years, again?” Peter asked, leaning against one of the pillars on the porch.

“Uh, not much, I mean all my aunts and uncles and cousins’ll be gone by then, but my moms usually either host or go to a party with some of their friends that night, so I’ll be stuck at home helping Leah watch Kara. But, uh, if you don’t have any plans, you can come over and hang at mine? We usually watch movies until 11 and then watch the news station channel to watch the ball drop.”

“Sure, that sounds good,” Peter nodded, “my mom’s a total early bird and she never lasts all the way to midnight, even when she wants to, so New Years Eve celebrations aren’t ever really a thing at my house.” Sam nodded and glanced away from Peter. He had been fiddling with the straps to his backpack since he grabbed it to get ready to leave, and Peter didn’t know what was wrong. Had he done something wrong? Said something to make Sam uncomfortable? “You ok, Sammy?” Peter asked, taking a half step closer to the other boy, and he could swear that Sam’s cheeks flushed.  _ It’s just the light _ , he told himself. He almost believed it. 

“Yeah, no,” Sam said quickly, shaking his head avidly, “I’m just.” He paused, and looked at Peter critically for a moment, before digging one hand into his backpack. “This is for you, merry Christmas, ok I have to go, bye!” Sam said all in one breath, shoving something into Peter’s hands and running down the stairs to his car so fast that Peter couldn’t do anything but wave halfheartedly at his retreating car. 

Once Sam’s headlights had fully disappeared, Peter looked down at the box Sam had pushed into his hands before running away. It was fairly small box, wrapped in red, vaguely-Christmas themed paper. Something in Peter’s chest caught.  _ Oh.  _ This  _ is what Sam was nervous about _ , he thought. 

He wandered back into the house, shutting the front door behind him and all but collapsing into a chair by the dining room table, staring puzzledly at the box the whole time. 

After staring at the box for what could have been two minutes or two hours, Peter belatedly realized that he should probably open the box. 

He ripped the wrapping paper off- now that he was inside he could see it was covered in little pink santa heads on a dark red background- and pulled off the tape holding the box closed.

Inside the box was a tiny sprig of greenery. It looked vaguely familiar to Peter, little oval shaped leaves all tied together in a red ribbon. There was a folded up sheet of paper inside the box too, halfway wrapped around the twig. Peter pulled both out carefully, placing the plant on the table beside the box, and unfurling the paper to read what Sam had written.

_ Peter, _

_ I know you and your mom aren’t super Christmas-crazy, especially not compared to how we are over at mine, so I guess I’ll explain. It’s mistletoe. I’m hoping you know what it means, at least, but in case you’re screwed when exam grades come out and you really are that dense, I’ll explain that too. (I’m kidding, you’re too smart to fail your exams, I know you’re stressing right now, don’t.) _

Sam was right- at the mention of Peter failing his exams, his pulse sped up against his will, and his mind started speeding around, panicking at the thought that he wasn’t going to pass his classes. Sam knew him too well.

_ Google- specifically Wikipedia- says mistletoe used to be symbolic of male fertility and sperm, which, like, I didn’t need to know. But more often, mistletoe is symbolic of kissing, especially at Christmastime. My moms always hang it around the house during the holidays- far too much of it, if you ask me, for a house full of immediate family members- and so it’s kind of a big deal over here. My moms had one of their first kisses under the mistletoe like ages ago, so I think it makes them sentimental and it’s kind of sweet when they’re not being gross. _

_ Long story short, this is my round about way of telling you I want to kiss you, Peter.  _

_ I guess I’m writing this because I’m too much of a coward to tell you in person, but I really like you, Peter. You get me better than anyone except maybe my older sister Leah, but she’s like crazy psychic so that doesn’t really count. You’re funny and sweet and like the smartest guy I know, and you get what I mean when I start rambling about stuff, because you ramble too. I like you, Peter. Probably more than I should for only knowing you like a month, but part of me feels like I’ve known you forever already, you know? _

Peter knew exactly what Sam meant.

_ So, yeah. I like you. Like, like-like you, in case the confession and proposition-via-plant to make out wasn’t clear. I want to date you. _

_ And I understand if you don’t feel the same way, or if you aren’t gay or aren’t interested in something, I do. And I wouldn’t blame you. I just had to get this off my chest, I can’t spend the rest of what I hope is going to be a long crazy friendship fostering a crush and wondering what if.  _

_ So, yeah, turns out I’m a secret romantic, Pete. I’m going to try not to light this on fire from pure cheese factor. _

_ Merry Christmas; _

_ Sam _ .

Peter read through the letter once, twice, three times before letting it fall softly to his lap.

Sam liked him. Sam  _ liked  _ him, and wanted to kiss him and wrote him a whole letter about it. Frankly, it was a miracle Peter hadn’t spontaneously combusted already. 

He sat there, stunned, heart beating out of his chest, and a stupid grin on his face for far too long, the letter clutched tightly in his hands. When Peter finally came back to earth, he had one thought in his head.

_ I have to see Sam. _

* * *

Ok, so maybe taking your mom’s car and driving to your best friend-slash-crush’s parents’ house at 9 at night a week before Christmas wasn’t Peter’s brightest idea. But like they say, Christmas is a time for miracles. 

Peter sat outside Sam’s house in his mom’s car for a few minutes before he got out. His stomach curdled and his head spun with worries and fears and self doubt. He crushed the letter in his hand a little tighter. It was a reminder of why he was here. A reminder that his fears were unbased. That Sam had the balls to say something, so it was Peter’s turn to have the balls to  _ do  _ something. 

He climbed out of the car and walked up the step towards Sam’s front door. One hand clutched the letter, the other was shoved in his jacket pocket. He rang the doorbell and stepped back, smiling slightly at the yelling he could hear from inside the house. 

“I got it!” A startlingly familiar voice called out, and it was all Peter could do not to run away before the door opened, and there he was. 

Sam opened the door mid-laugh, probably at something one of his sisters or cousins had said or done, but he froze as soon as he registered who it was at the door. He stared at Peter, his face somewhere between confusion and hesitance. 

“Hey,” Peter said, almost too quiet to be heard.

“Hey,” Sam echoed, just as soft, and stepped barefoot out onto the porch, closing the door behind him. Peter hadn’t realized how much noise had been coming from the house until Sam closed the door, and they were suddenly plunged into near-silence. 

“I got your letter,” Peter said, because he didn’t know what else to say. All his thought and plans went out the window when he saw Sam. All he could think about was how Sam had said he wanted to kiss him in his letter. And now they were here.

“Yeah?” Sam breathed.

“Yeah.” Peter pursed his lips, and reached back into his coat pocket. He pulled out the sprig of mistletoe Sam had gifted him, slightly crumpled from the trip, but still whole. 

A myriad of expressions flashed across Sam’s face at the sight of the small plant; recognition, confusion, disbelief, before finally coming to rest on thinly veiled heartbreak.

Peter steeled himself, and slowly raised the plant above his and Sam’s heads, taking a step forward so it was exactly between them. He scanned Sam’s face, waiting for him to realize, hoping he would understand, before whispering, “Merry Christmas?”

Sam glanced up at the mistletoe above them, and when he looked back at Peter, unmitigated joy shone plainly in his eyes. Peter nodded silently at Sam’s unasked question, and without another breath of hesitation, Sam closed the distance between them.

Peter had never really been a believer of the whole magical-perfect-first-kiss moments from the movies.He never thought it was realistic. This kiss wasn’t that perfect kiss moment, but it was close. 

It was everything a first kiss should be; it was them. It was messy and a little awkward but they found their rhythm, their balance quickly. Peter dropped the letter and raised his free hand to cup the back of Sam’s head, pulling him closer as Sam’s hands combed up through Peter’s hair from his cheeks. 

He pulled away eventually, slowly, when his arm got tired from holding the mistletoe in the air. Peter rested his forehead against Sam’s as he slowly lowered his arm, Peter’s hand coming to rest next to Sam’s cheek. 

“Hi,” he said softly, breathlessly, looking into Sam’s eyes. 

“Hi,” Sam echoed. “How’d you know I always wanted to be kissed under the mistletoe?”

Peter grinned, thinking about the letter sitting crumpled on the floor of the porch beside him. “A little birdie told me.” Sam rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning in the most sickeningly lovesick way. Peter knew he looked the same way. “Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel about being kissed not under the mistletoe?” 

Sam leaned back slightly, finally separating their foreheads, and rearranged his arms so they were on either of Peter’s shoulders, his hands hooked behind his head. “I think I could consider it.” 

Peter took that as an invitation to kiss him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, kudos and comments are loved and appreciated more than you could ever know, and my tumblr is @grasslandgirl, if you want to ask me questions about this/other of my works, bug me about what im working about, or just yell about american vandal/eldonado, feel free to find me over there! happy holidays, loves <3


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